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    Dracula
    Dracula
    Dracula
    Ebook620 pages12 hours

    Dracula

    By Bram Stoker

    4/5

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    Enriched Classics offer readers accessible editions of great works of literature enhanced by helpful notes and commentary. Each book includes educational tools alongside the text, enabling students and readers alike to gain a deeper and more developed understanding of the writer and their work.

    A true masterwork of storytelling, Dracula has transcended generation, language, and culture to become one of the most popular novels ever written. It is a quintessential tale of suspense and horror, boasting one of the most terrifying characters ever born in literature: Count Dracula, a tragic, night-dwelling specter who feeds upon the blood of the living, and whose diabolical passions prey upon the innocent, the helpless, and the beautiful. But Dracula also stands as a bleak allegorical saga of an eternally cursed being whose nocturnal atrocities reflect the dark underside of the supremely moralistic age in which it was originally written—and the corrupt desires that continue to plague the modern human condition.

    Enriched Classics present the great works of world literature enhanced for the contemporary reader. This edition of Dracula was prepared by Joseph Valente, Professor of English at the University of Illinois and the author of Dracula's Crypt: Bram Stoker, Irishness, and the Question of Blood, who provides insight into the racial connotations of this enduring masterpiece.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPocket Books
    Release dateOct 14, 2003
    ISBN9780743493451
    Author

    Bram Stoker

    Bram (Abraham) Stoker was an Irish novelist, born November 8, 1847 in Dublin, Ireland. 'Dracula' was to become his best-known work, based on European folklore and stories of vampires. Although most famous for writing 'Dracula', Stoker wrote eighteen books before he died in 1912 at the age of sixty-four.

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    Reviews for Dracula

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    • 2/5
      Were it not for audiobooks, I don't think I'd have read any classics in the last two years. This is a great way to slowly slog through the ones you've been meaning to read just because, but don't think you'll like much. Dracula has been on my to-read list since middle school, but only because it's a thing I felt I should read, not because I was especially interested. Thank you, audiobook, for making it so that I did not need to DNF!

      For real, if I had been reading this in print format, I really do not think we would have been friends. The story goes by so slowly, the characters are flat, and there is very little action for a horror novel. Add to this the fact that pretty much ALL of pop culture is one big giant spoiler for the plot, and the book is insanely boring at most points.

      Even worse, pop culture took all the good ideas out of Dracula and so, basically, what you're left to be surprised by is all of the things pop culture changed so that the book could actually be interesting. Take, for example, Van Helsing and Dracula's battle. I went in expecting this:



      If that's what you're hoping for, let me just tell you that you're WRONG. In fact, Van Helsing is an old, fat doctor with an absurd accent. Dracula is a tall, old man with a long white mustache. Umm, yuck, really? Sadly, 'tis true. The action in the book is more of the mental battle variety than anything else. They do a lot more talking than fighting.

      Mental standoffs can be pretty cool though, characters trying to outmaneuver one another. I mean, that's what made the first half of Death Note so freaking cool. Unfortunately, these characters are dumb. Certainly, knowing what's happening going into the book, but even given that they're working with no knowledge, their reasoning abilities are limited.

      What really got to me was that, near the end, they've figured out what happened to Lucy Westenra, watched her become a vampire, and killed her. Now they're searching for Dracula to kill him too. They decide that they need to do this without the cleverest of the bunch, Mina Harker, because ladies cannot handle this sort of thing, duh. They leave her alone and come back to find her weak, pale and tired, and it takes them freaking ages to think maybe Dracula has something to do with this, since these symptoms are remarkably similar to Lucy's. Basically, everyone's pathetic.

      Speaking of Mina, she is by far the most interesting and clever character, but, because of the time period, she gets very little respect. I mean, yeah, the guys appreciate what a great typist she is and admire her intellect, but, ultimately, she's more of a curiosity than a compatriot. They leave her out of things because she's a woman, and view her most important role to be that of a shoulder to cry on, of feminine comfort, despite the fact that she's the one who ultimately figures everything out. I know it's a different time, but it still pisses me right the fuck off.

      Oh, also supremely annoying? The infinite references to God. Seriously, every couple of minutes someone would intone "it's in God's hands." At first it didn't bother me, because that's the kind of stupid shit people would say, and still do say, in crises. However, after the first fifty times, I pretty much wanted to start ripping people's heads off every time it happened. I GOT it already: you're all good Christians. Shut the fuck up, okay?



      The only thing that made this book bearable for me was the fact that Audible did a wonderful job putting together the audio. They brought in a stellar cast, and really fit the voices to the characters. My favorite voice actors were Alan Cumming and Katherine Kellgren. Tim Curry does a good job, but he's doing that stupid Van Helsing accent, so I couldn't love his performance as much.

      Even with the marvelous audio work, this still only came out to a meh for me. I highly recommend the audio version, whether you think you'll like the book or not.
    • 5/5
      Bram Stoker’s The Illustrated Dracula features illustrations from Jae Lee, who’s worked on X-Factor, Inhumans, and Fantastic Four: 1234 for Marvel Comics as well as other work for DC and Image Comics. The book itself reprints Stoker’s text, which uses the epistolary novel format that was popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and introduces the reader to Count Dracula, Jonathan and Mina Harker, Renfield, Abraham Van Helsing, and Lucy Westenra. Lee includes multiple black-and-white illustrations throughout the story as well as four full-color illustrations that capture the gothic, dreamlike quality of the narrative. Lee’s portrayal of Dracula appears to borrow from the depiction of Count Orlok in F.W. Murnau’s 1922 film, Nosferatu, rather than Stoker’s own description or the appearance of the historical Vlad Țepeș. Those benefits aside, there are some typographical errors throughout the work. That said, the illustrations and the high-quality materials of which this book is constructed make it a good gift edition for those new to the story or friends in need of a new copy.
    • 4/5
      I was absolutely captivated by this story from the very beginning and the characters are so well described that I couldn’t stop reading.

      The cinema was my only exposure to this story before now and what can I say but the cinema destroyed these fascinating characters by either sidelining them, not including them or over sexualizing them for the entertainment value. Lucy and Mina are two of the strongest female characters that I have ever seen in literature and their friendship is wonderful. The gentlemen in this story are very courageous and it is amazing how determined they were to see Dracula destroyed because it was the right thing to do and not for revenge.

      My only con is there are times that the author gets a little wordy with some of his side stories and conversations that I almost wanted to skip some of it.

      This is a great performance to listen to. All the actors not only had to act out their main part but also any of the other characters when the story was being told from the journal writer’s point of view. The actors did a great job of maintaining each characters personalities and subtleties no matter which actor was speaking for the character. It is exceptionally well done.
    • 1/5
      Tried for years to get through this book. Never could quite do it...
    • 4/5
      I found the book easily digestible for an older book. The format felt quite modern, being a combination of letters and journal entries from various narrators. The descriptions and emotions were lush and enveloping. The entries written from VanHelsing’s point of view were the only ones I had difficulty getting through- the language choices are meant to portray a highly intelligent person for whom English is not native, but for me it wound up being repetitive and harder to relate to. Also, the portrayal of women was hard to swallow at times. Baring in mind that it was another time, and that it might even hold a hint of satire against chauvinism, it was still at times irking. Overall, glad I finally read this classic and would definitely recommend!
    • 3/5
      Van Helsing sat with the Harker child on his lap; Van Helsing was momentarily pensive as his breathing continued stertorously. He was thankful that the child's breathing was normal, not stertorous. His suspicions had been numbed since the events with the Count some seven years before. He was also aware that both Jonathan and Mina would conscript this every instant to their journals. It was a shame he still spoke German. Why didn't anyone notice this? Yes, they had encountered True Evil and prevailed through serial implausibility on the part of Undead genius and reduced him to ashes with a Bowie knife.
    • 4/5
      Quite good, and surprisingly funny in spots. It really was a "technothriller" of sorts in its time.
    • 5/5
      There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.
      Why am I always so surprised that classics are seriously fantastic?

      I loved everything about this! Even knowing the general story, having absorbed it via osmosis most of my life and having once watched a terribly adapted play put on by my high school peers, I was still pulled in by the tension, the terror, and the themes. I loved every character and found the plot to be very climactic and engaging.

      The writing style was superb! Each narrator had a consistent voice that defined them and made their perspective all the more interesting. My personal favorite was Dr. John Seward. He had a very lyrical way of viewing the world and it made his sections beautiful to read. The opening part with Jonathan Harker's imprisonment in Dracula's Castle was palpably tense and drew me in immediately. All in all, the entire thing was excellent!

      For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that we can rightly depend on.
    • 5/5
      - Too Sensual to Ignore -“Dracula” by Bram Stoker relays the tales of an up-and-coming realtor, Jonathan Harker, who travels from England to Transylvania to meet a client; Count Dracula. In the classic interpretation of good versus evil, Jonathan and several of his acquaintances seek out the monster that killed one of their beloved companions. Their journey is filled with superstition, which is seen within the very first chapter of Jonathan’s diary during his journey to the Count’s home; many community members warn him of the dangers that awaits, and some even beg that he returns to his home. The book fashioned a new era within the literary field alongside such works as “Frankenstein” by Mary Shelley and “The strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Hyde” by Robert Louis Stevenson. It is a collection of reminiscences, transposed in diary entries, victrola recordings, and recounts of events throughout the time period. It dives into the parasitic indulgence so deftly hidden within Victorian London. There is a certain theme found in each of the novels I mentioned; the human form, when molested, may unleash a creature reeking with God’s defamation. I would recommend this book to readers with an interest in folklore/urban legends, gothic fiction, classics, horror novels, and the victorian perception of evil. It is definitely worth picking up if you are curious about the beginnings of these kinds of books, as well. It is an excellent subject to use for a case study of the genre.
    • 3/5
      Dracula. Bram Stoker. Modern Library Paperback Edition. 2001. The first time I read Dracula I was at home between sophomore and junior years at Montevallo, I think. I had nightmares about vampire cats that were so real I crawled in bed with Mother and only read the book during the daylight hours. This time it was more uncomfortable, not because I think vampires are real, but I was shocked by the evil personified that the book described and surprised by the Catholicism that permeated the determined search to destroy the evil. It was long and not as suspenseful as I remembered more of it as I read. It is much deeper than the modern vampire books and movies.
    • 5/5
      The original classic vampire story, first published in 1897, the one that spawned all those lurid films by Hammer and others, all those comic strips. I hadn’t read it, and was surprised to find it over 400 pages long and beautifully and intelligently written and cleverly structured. The story is told by way of the journals and letters of the main characters, which gives the unfolding events a very authentic feel and creates a sense of discovery in the reader. The measured pace is exactly right and disbelief all too easy to suspend. The novel moves from Dracula’s castle in Transylvania, where Jonathan Harker, a solicitor, has gone to arrange the details of a property sale with the Count. It continues via Whitby and the fate of poor Lucy to London, where the different strands of the story come together and the four men and Mina, Jonathan’s wife, set out to defeat the vampire. The fantastic events are written with authority and woven through with details of location and history that make this a fascinating read. I did find Dr Van Helsing’s accent rather tiresome towards the end where he has a lot to say, yet he’s a fairly lovable character so I forgave him for it. I was slightly puzzled by Dracula’s reputation for being irresistible to women, which suggests a sexual attraction that isn’t stated in the book itself, although the Count’s victims do seem to become more voluptuous and lascivious creatures as he returns to feed from them again and again. Hmmm…..
    • 4/5
      The classic tale of Dracula and his clash with the small group of individuals who would strive to prevent him from threatening the population of an oblivious London.Dracula as a narrative is deeply embedded in the cultural consciousness. Stoker's novel has had such a tremendous influence on vampire lore and the characters he created are iconic, with not only Dracula but the impressively brilliant Professor Van Helsing. Knowing the ultimate outcome of the novel, while ameliorating some of the suspense, does not detract from the enjoyment of the book. Gothic and darkly atmospheric, Stoker plays with his audience, manipulating the multiple perspectives of the characters in his novel to play the reader's knowledge and recognition of danger against the character's obliviousness. The different narrative voices are for the most part distinctive from one character to the next and the telling of the story through primarily diary entries as well as letters and newspaper articles is used to its benefit. While the novel does show its age in some of its comments on gender, Mina is an impressively strong female character. Jae Lee's illustrations in this addition are stark and beautiful with very simple lines but that add to the ominous atmosphere created within the novel. A great edition to encounter this seminal vampire novel.
    • 4/5
      this is probably one of my most favorite books ever. i loved how Jonathan Harker had to deal with and try and figure out who the count really was. the part about Dracula taking the blood of the innocent and virgins was a little creepy but other than that it was and still is one of my favorite books.
    • 5/5
      This is definately my favorite of all time! Theres nothing more to say !
    • 4/5
      Although I hadn't read this novel before, it held few surprises for me. The basic plot is part of popular culture. (My first exposure may have been the Gilligan's Island parody episode, and my high school choir performed the musical parody Dracula, Baby my senior year.) What did surprise me is that it is an epistolary novel. I listened to a Naxos audio version recorded by a cast of voice actors. It's an excellent production, and it turned out to be a great way to experience this book. The narrators read with such conviction that I was able to overlook some of the dated scientific material (e.g., about blood transfusions). I liked this book much more than Frankenstein.
    • 4/5
      This is a very good rendition of Dracula for the young adult. It's not the full version. It has been adapted for the young reader. I remember getting this book as a kid and I remember it putting terror into me.

      I highly recommend this book for the young reader. The print is a decent size. It has the correct mixture of pictures and words to keep the young reader interested.

    • 5/5
      One could say so much about a book like this. But one word might just sum it all up, Classic. Not classic as in boring and just old, but Classic as in when your done reading it you will want to go back and read it again. For me when i was getting towards the end i was getting mad because i didn't want the book to be over, you just want more action and more of the suspense. This is By far a Classic, and a must have for anybody from any background. Go out and buy this book, and read it. YOU'LL LOVE IT.
    • 4/5
      *NO SPOILERS WERE USED IN THE WRITING OF THIS REVIEW*Tackling a classic that is over 100 years old and influenced countless modern books, films and TV shows can be intimidating. The main concern is whether language and plot still seem compelling in our time. (The short answer is: YES!)From the beginning, this book offered many surprises. For example, the language is holding up surprisingly well with writing that immediately sucks the reader in; there is never a dull moment. The prose is rarely too flowery, as might be expected, because it is presented in a conversational tone through the main characters' journals and correspondence.Another surprise is the novel's point of view. Unlike many of the Vampire chronicles this book inspired, Bram Stoker's Dracula is written entirely from the Vampire slayers' point of view. Like his distant relative and contemporary, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Bram Stoker framed his Vampire novel as a detective mystery. The vampire slayers are detectives, and the reader follows them as they unravel clues about the vampire's nature and location.In my opinion, Bram Stoker's adherence to the detective format is a serious shortcoming, and is the main reason that I did not give this book 5 stars. In illustrating his heroes' sleuthing, the author focuses too much of the reader's attention on their correspondence and transcriptions, along with constant and long-winded vows of loyalty. He therefore leaves many interesting ideas largely unexplored, such as the relationship between Dracula and madman Renfield, the Vampire's past life, or the bits of Vampire lore that could have been explored in much greater detail.While presenting his vampire slayer detectives as unequivocal heroes, Bram Stoker unintentionally paints the Vampire as a very compelling underdog. The reader can't help feeling sorry for the Vampire, a member of an ancient and powerful clan, who is capable of hibernating for centuries while he waits for his beloved to die and join him as undead. Even one of the main heroes muses that he, too, is willing to become a vampire should he fail to rescue his wife from this fate.Since Bram Stoker left so many interesting elements unexplored and created such a compelling underdog character, it is easy to see why this book inspired so many others (most of which totally left out Bram Stoker's original goody-goody heroes and focused on the vampires). Still, despite its flaws this book is definitely worth reading for the sense of suspense it creates without being too gory, and the countless avenues for further reflection that it presents.
    • 5/5
      I have been a huge fan of vampire novels over the years from Anne Rice to Laurell K. Hamilton so it was with some shame that I had never read the original Father of the vampire novel Bram Stoker's Dracula. I decided to pick this up for a halloween challenge in my classics group. I was immediately drawn into the book as it is told in the epistolary style (through journal entries and letters) which I think always makes for a quick and easy read. This book was longer than I had remembered it being when I bought it, however I enjoyed nearly all of it. The only thing that cast a shadow upon my enjoyment was the character of Van Helsing, I had always thought of Van Helsing as the muscle that always gets Dracula. Stokers Van Helsing is a long winded, kiss ass. Everyone he meets is the most wonderful person in the entire world and he instantly loves them, this seems to be a trait with 18th century fiction, love is immediate and must be illustrated with all manner of pretty talk. Other than that I found the whole novel to be very good, I loved the character of Mina as a strong woman well ahead of her time. I even liked Lucy who was never my favorite character in the many versions of the movie. For those who like I, have seen many renditions of the story for film and hesitate to read the book for fear it will be an exact duplicate, fear not. The book was though similar not exactly like any of the Dracula movies I have seen but had parts of all of them.
    • 5/5
      It's Gothic, intricate, romantic, tragic, fun and surprising. I haven't read Stoker's original "Dracula" in about 20 years and most of the details I'd either forgotten or had been smudged, smeared, and overwritten by a lifetime of modern vampire stories and myths."Dracula" is set in the late 19th century and is presented through a series of letters, memos and recordings between numerous characters who, through no fault of their own, become entangled in Dracula's plot to move away from his rapidly dwindling (and more "vampire-aware") food supply in Romania to the hip and crowded urban living in London.Stoker's mythology around Vampires had a few surprises (to me, at least...apologies in advance if any of these are common knowledge to Stephanie Meyers lovers...). Vampires only lose their powers during the day. They don't burn up or anything in the daylight...they just can't morph into animals, use superhuman strength, etc. Vampires can't turn into anything fancy when they're over water...which was a convenient plot point revolving around Dracula's travels to and from London via boat. Also, Stoker describes Dracula as having a long thin moustache...so I can't help imagining a fu manchu.Van Helsing comes across as a Victorian age vampire-fighting Yoda. Stoker may have been writing Van Helsing's backward-talking soliloquies to be delivered with a Danish accent, but perhaps the Stoker estate should have a chat with Lucasfilms...Harker's wife Mina is a central figure throughout the book - initially only as the target of Jonathan's letters from Transylvania, and eventually as a key figure in the hunt for the Count. Her passion and love for hubby Jonathan is both melodramatic and touching. One can't help but feel a very Victorian-England vibe in their relationship.I thoroughly enjoyed the Stoker original. He does a masterful job connecting the plot dots through diaries and correspondence. Even by today's standards, I find his approach very fresh. The first quarter of the story takes place in Romania and Dracula's castle, and Stoker is at his best in his exposition of place and in setting the weighty and Gothic tone of Dracula in his environs. The image of the Count crawling down the outer walls of his castle, while Jonathan Harker watches from above, is burned into my mind.
    • 4/5
      There are lots of memorable scenes in Bram Stoker’s Dracula: riding at night through the Carpathian mountains towards the Castle Dracula, wolves howling and approaching from all around; Dracula scaling down his castle wall at night like a lizard, head first; child kidnapping for blood sucking and murder; a ship ‘manned’ by a dead crew, all murdered, with the corpse of a seaman lashed to the helm but still making ground in a storm; a lunatic asylum with a philosophical inmate who loves eating flies, spiders, and birds; swarms and swarms of rats in an abandoned old house as they hunt Dracula; of course the eroticism of the vampires, both Dracula and three females who vie with each other for John Harker; Dracula’s evil red eyes, and his changing into mist, a bat, and a dog; Victorian blood transfusions, before blood typing was known about; and beheading and driving a stake through the heart of a woman the “good guys” had loved, then filling her mouth full of garlic, because she was now among the Un-Dead.Phew. Who could not love all that violence and danger, with a little sex mixed in? On top of this, I love the imagery which sets some of the scenes, and Stoker’s use of multiple narrators. In Dracula you’ll see the influence not only in obvious books and films over the the past 100+ years, but also in characters like Lord Voldemort - sheer evil, apparently immortal, controlling his minions as master, and communicating experiences through mental connection from afar.The only reason I knocked it down a bit on my rating is that while the book starts off great, towards the middle and end it oftentimes moves too slowly. The second half should have been edited and made as brisk as the first. Last point, the introduction in this slim text is good, as is its afterword. I was unaware that there were three vampire stories which preceded Bram Stoker’s 1897 tale, published every 20-30 years starting in 1821, but of course it was Stoker who made Dracula a classic. Quotes:Love these as examples of setting the mood, this one on the coast:“To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland – white, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the wreaths of the sea-mist swept by. At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which now came thick and fast, followed by such sudden peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.”And this one in a tomb:“The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron and tarnished brass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been imagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life – animal life – was not the only thing which could pass away.”And these which highly sexual overtones; this one after three vampire girls fight over John Harker, who awaits with a “wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips”:“I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer – nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super-sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes with languorous ecstasy and waited – waited with beating heart.”In this one, Dracula dominates poor Mina, in a scene some have commented is symbolic of fellatio:“And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kind of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call, When my brain says ‘Come!’ to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!’ With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the – Oh my God! My God! What have I done?”
    • 4/5
      This is truely a classic. The narrative structure really creates an interesting story, but also, holes in time of events that may or may not have occured. Simply put, the reader cannot know what happens between journal entries, newpaper clippings, or letters. Plus, are the characters who are cataloguing this information not biased about this or that? Anyways, that's just one facet of Bram Stoker's brilliant novel. A good book, all in all.
    • 4/5
      By turns melodramatic, contrived and repetitive it is, nonetheless, a spine-tingling tale - a classic.
    • 2/5
      Dracula is well known, I found some of the differences between movies, common myth, and the book of interest. He isn't quite as fearsome in this version. I think a lot of the issue is the dating of the book. A lot of what Bram Stoker does serves to reduce the horror. An example is the early introduction by watching him scale a castle. His behavior wasn't consistent with his abilities. Next is the structure of the book. It is told as a series of diary entries with the addition of a few letters. These come from several people, yet they are all told in the same voice with similar types of content and style. Each person has recorded dialog verbatim, even to the point of the awkward working and spelling of people of different cultures and backgrounds. It felt very unnatural. Abraham Van Helsing seemed over the top. He has all the answers, he's encountered vampires before, but his background isn't adequately explained. He is overly secretive for a matter as grave as this, and parcels out information only sparingly. The story, itself, could be brought up-to-date. For instance, instead of starting in Romania, I would have started in England with the arrival of the boat whose crew was dead. It could have started by taking the form of an investigation. There were some interesting events early in the book, intrigue around Harker's apparent imprisonment, his interaction with the other vampires. This could be updated by introducing another victim, probably replacing Harker, and another plot thread in England. Overall, the book fell short of my expectations. I felt no horror, and felt that Dracula didn't present himself well. Coupled with the overburdened dialog of the stereotypical Victorian dialog made it slow at times and difficult to accept when belittling women or other minorities. The climax came a bit suddenly and was too abrupt. A rewrite could do wonders for the book, it is a good story.
    • 3/5
      3-1/2 stars. I decided to round down this time. I did however like Dracula a lot. It was way overboard with the melodrama which, it turns out, didn't bother me as much as it does in other forms of entertainment. I haven't read anything else that measures up to it in that regard so maybe the 19th century use of the language softened the eye-rolling effect for me. I'm wondering how common the melodrama is in novels from the romantic period and how different authors from the period differed. The only other thing I recall at this moment having read from the period, so far, is Jane Austin (pretty much 100 years earlier) and I can't consider that a good comparison as I consider her to be genius on several levels. Dracula may drag in parts for a lot of people. It's not exactly a page turner for some stretches. It held my interest all the way through but I wasn't compelled to carry it with me through the day and I read other books during the reading of it as a result. The multiple points of view and the telling through the various journals was a great choice for this and used to excellent effect. That became even more pronounced after all parties had all left England and the novel started building toward its climax. There were several points where the story became quite exciting including pretty much the whole last quarter or so of the book. The difference in the use of the language between now and then combined with the broken English of Professor Van Helsing with all the mixed up tenses and cases was an experience - one requiring some patience sometimes and funny sometimes but not a problem. i have a few other gothic novels picked out for the very near future and am looking forward to them.
    • 4/5
      Whether you have read the book or not, no doubt you know the basics of this classic 1897 novel. Although it wasn't the first Gothic or the first vampire literature, it set the stage for every vampire story that followed it. You’ll already know what Dracula looks like, where he lives, what he is about, his strengths and his weaknesses. What you may not know – as I did not – is:1. Although we do visit Castle Dracula in Transylvania, the bulk of the story takes place in England, where our villain pursues innocent women, and is pursued by a noble band of strapping heroes that include The Imprisoned Solicitor, The Lordly Aristocrat, The Charming American, the Thoughtful Psychologist and The Elderly Dutch Doctor, whose wisdom guides them all. Not only them, but:2. A wonderful, strong woman – the most inspiring I’ve met in 19th century literature – takes her place among them. The wife of The Imprisoned Solicitor, Mina is a teacher and aspiring journalist who carefully records her experiences and impressions, is fascinated by technology, travels on her own, takes charge of difficult situations, reads feminist literature, makes decisions so brilliant the men often follow her lead – and carries a gun when she must! At the same time, she demonstrates the sensitivity and tenderness, the vulnerability, and the absolute devotion to Home and God that the age (and the Count) demanded of its women. She’s got it all.3. The tale is told entirely through fictional “primary sources” -- diaries, medical records, telegrams, newspaper articles and letters. Thus, almost every detail is told in the first person, mostly by the primary characters, and each voice is wonderfully true to type, including the “foreign” syntax of the Dutchman’s speech and the irrepressible “slang” of the American.The book is long and sometimes a bit drawn out, when we are so anxious for resolution, but it is a surprisingly modern classic on many levels, with everything a thrilling adventure requires. Those who read a lot of grisly contemporary horror literature may find it tame, but on a dark autumn evening, tucked into a warm chair by a flickering fire, I found it just perfect.
    • 4/5
      After reading this, I realize that I've never seen a Dracula movie in my life. I dimly recall seeing the play in high school - my sister played Mina - but the plot of that escapes me. I was surprised at how little of the book takes place at Dracula's castle. I also was a touch confused by the plethora of vampiric restrictions: sunlight is evidently a hindrance only some of the time, one becomes a vampire by drinking a vampire's blood or sometimes just by being killed by a vampire, a vampire needs to rest in sanctified soil but cannot touch anything blessed, a vampire can turn into a bat and a dog and mist and who knows what else... I'm just glad subsequent vampire stories kept it simple: no sunlight, no Christian stuff, no stakes through the heart or decapitation.Anyway, all griping aside, I really enjoyed this book. The plot moves well. Often books over 100 years old are written in a difficult dialect, but this was easy, to the point where I was even able to hear Van Helsing's thick accent in my head. Mina's portrayal as a strong, intelligent woman was refreshing as well. The ending was quite abrupt, even jarring, but the story did not feel at all unfinished.
    • 5/5
      I know this is going to sound funny but I know now why this is a classic. I always dreaded reading it because it was written so long ago thinking I wouldn't be able to get into it but boy was I wrong. I was drawn into the story at once, it is cryptic and scary with amazing foreboding detail. You feel like you are in there with the characters. Great scenery detail. I LOVED this book, by far one of my favorites already. I may even read it again! (and i usually never do that). You can't beat the original vampire novel!
    • 4/5
      Bram Stoker’s Gothic novel “Dracula” has never been out of print since it was originally published in 1897. That means the book has been available to readers for over a hundred years. It took me almost that long to give it a whirl and now that I’ve finished it all I can say is, “Wow!” It was not at all what I expected. There was some blood and gore, sure, but the story was so much more than that. Told in epistolary form, the book opens with young solicitor Jonathan Harker preparing for his trip to Transylvania, where he will oversee the transfer of a piece of property in London to a certain Count Dracula. But then some very strange things start happening to him while he’s in the castle and soon he realizes that he is imprisoned there and running for his life. “The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit.The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner!” (Page 25)Meanwhile his fiancé doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening.From that point on we meet the vampire, the vampire killers, the lust for blood, wolves, three wanton female vampires and a resident of an insane asylum who serves as a sensor as to the whereabouts of the Count. Stoker provides an engaging story of the hunt for Count Dracula after establishing he is, indeed, a vampire, systematically identifying his prey among the friends of Jonathan Harker.The book is teeming with symbolism and explores the themes of the role of women in Victorian London, the promise of Christian salvation, the consequences and advantages of the advancing Industrial Age. A surprisingly enjoyable read that once again has me shaking my head wondering why I took so long to get to this gem. Very highly recommended.
    • 5/5
      The absolute all-time classic of wanting to do your friends. I've already written about five papers on Dracula and said most of what I want to say, but here's this: you know those old soft-porn videos they used to rent at places like Blockbuster that carefully skirted their wholesome Middle American ideas of what was acceptable whilst still providing a masturbatory outlet for men too remotely situated for broadband? Where it's all "The De Courceys. An estranged family with a dark secret - until young, nubile Rochelle came into their homes and unsettled their lives with her erotic power? A journey of sexual discovery and spiritual healing." Imagine Dracula as Rochelle. Is ur mind blown? A little?

    Book preview

    Dracula - Bram Stoker

    I

    JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL

    (Kept in shorthand)

    3 May. Bistritz.¹

    —Left Munich at 8.35 p.m. on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6.46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible. The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East; the most Western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.

    We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hôtel Royale. I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem., get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called ‘paprika hendl,’ and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians. I found my smattering of German very useful here; indeed, I don’t know how I should be able to get on without it.

    Having some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum,²

    and made search among the books and maps of the library regarding Transylvania;³

    it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a noble of that country. I find that the district he named is in the extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states, Transylvania, Moldavia, and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe. I was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare with our own Ordnance Survey maps;⁴

    but I found that Bistritz, the post town named by Count Dracula,⁵

    is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with Mina.

    In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities: Saxons in the south, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the west; and Szekelys in the east and north.⁶

    I am going among the latter, who claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it. I read that every known superstition⁷

    in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.)

    I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night long under my window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then. I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they said was ‘mamaliga,’ and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call ‘impletata.’ (Mem., get recipe for this also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to the station at 7.30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour before we began to move. It seems to me that the further East you go the more unpunctual are the trains.⁸

    What ought they to be in China?

    All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side of them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear. At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts of attire. Some of them were just like peasants at home or those I saw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets and round hats and home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque. The women looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were all very clumsy about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other, and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of something fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course petticoats under them. The strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who are more barbarian than the rest, with their big cowboy hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and had long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very picturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would be set down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in natural self-assertion.

    It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier—for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina—it has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and disease.⁹

    Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I found, to my delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress—white undergarment with long double apron, front and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed, and said: ‘The Herr Englishman?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Jonathan Harker.’ She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door. He went, but immediately returned with a letter:—

    ‘My Friend,—Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well to-night. At three to-morrow the diligence will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.—Your friend,

    ‘DRACULA.’

    4 May.—I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my German. This could not be true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask anyone else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting.

    Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a very hysterical way:—

    ‘Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?’ She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:—

    ‘Do you know what day it is?’ I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:—

    ‘Oh, yes! I know that, I know that! but do you know what day it is?’ On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

    ‘It is the eve of St George’s Day.¹⁰

    Do you not know that to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?’ She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very ridiculous, but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it. I therefore tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go. She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me. I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman,¹¹

    I have been taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind. She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round my neck, and said, ‘For your mother’s sake,’ and went out of the room. I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for the coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still round my neck. Whether it is the old lady’s fear, I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the coach!

    5 May.—The Castle.—The grey of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are mixed. I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes. There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly. I dined on what they call ‘robber steak’—bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simple style of the London cat’s-meat! The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable. I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.

    When I got on the coach the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him talking with the landlady. They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sitting on the bench outside the door—which they call by a name meaning ‘word-bearer’—came and listened, and then they looked at me, most of them pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were ‘Ordog’—Satan, ‘pokol’—hell, ‘stregoica’—witch, ‘vrolok’ and ‘vlkoslak’—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions.)

    When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me. With some difficulty I got a fellow-passenger to tell me what they meant; he would not answer at first, but on learning that I was English, he explained that it was a charm or guard against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man; but everyone seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I could not but be touched. I shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn-yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing themselves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its background of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the centre of the yard. Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the box-seat—‘gotza’ they call them—cracked his big whip over his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on our journey.

    I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of the scene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might not have been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom—apple, plum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I could see the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green hills of what they call here the ‘Mittel Land’ ran the road, losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the straggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand then what the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summer-time excellent, but that it had not yet been put in order after the winter snows. In this respect it is different from the general run of roads in the Carpathians, for it is an old tradition that they are not to be kept in too good order. Of old the Hospadars¹²

    would not repair them, lest the Turk should think that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops, and so hasten the war which was always really at loading point.

    Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right and left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling upon them and bringing out all the glorious colours of this beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again the white gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm as we swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty, snow-covered peak of a mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our serpentine way, to be right before us:—

    ‘Look! Isten szek!’—‘God’s seat!’—and he crossed himself reverently. As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This was emphasized by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and there we passed Cszeks and Slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were many crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed themselves. Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did not even turn round as we approached, but seemed in the self-surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the outer world.¹³

    There were many things new to me: for instance, hay-ricks in the trees and here and there very beautiful masses of weeping birch, their white stems shining like silver through the delicate green of the leaves. Now and again we passed a leiter-waggon—the ordinary peasant’s cart, with its long, snake-like vertebra, calculated to suit the inequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a group of home-coming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the Slovaks with their coloured, sheepskins, the latter carrying lance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. As the evening fell it began to get very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys which ran deep between the spurs of the hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out here and there against the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes, as the road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of greyness, which here and there bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and grim fancies engendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite our driver’s haste, the horses could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it. ‘No, no,’ he said; ‘you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce,’ and then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—‘and you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep.’ The only stop he would make was a moment’s pause to light his lamps.

    When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on to further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in the hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater; the crazy coach rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side and to frown down upon us; we were entering the Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed upon me with earnestness which would take no denial; these were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at Bistritz—the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on each side the passengers, craning over the edge of the coach, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that something very exciting was either happening or expected, but though I asked each passenger, no one would give me the slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on for some little time; and at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness; but all was dark. The only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps, in which steam from our hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could now see the sandy road lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. I was already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, looking at his watch, said to the others something which I could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone; I thought it was, ‘An hour less than the time.’ Then, turning to me, he said in German worse than my own:—

    ‘There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected, after all. He will now come on to Bukovina, and return to-morrow or the next day; better the next day.’ Whilst he was speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of themselves, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of our lamps, as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight, as he turned to us. He said to the driver:—

    ‘You are early to-night, my friend.’ The man stammered in reply:—

    ‘The English Herr was in a hurry,’ to which the stranger replied:—

    ‘That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.’ As he spoke he smiled, the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger’s ‘Lenore’:¹⁴

    —

    ‘Denn die Todten reiten schnell.’—

    (‘For the dead travel fast.’)

    The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same time putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. ‘Give me the Herr’s luggage,’ said the driver; and with exceeding alacrity my bags were handed out and put in the calèche. Then I descended from the side of the coach, as the calèche was close alongside, the driver helping me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel; his strength must have been prodigious. Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we swept into the darkness of the Pass. As I looked back I saw the steam from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and projected against it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina.

    As they sank into the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling came over me; but a cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said in excellent German:—

    ‘The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me take all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz [the plum brandy of the country] underneath the seat, if you should require it.’ I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there, all the same. I felt a little strange, and not a little frightened. I think had there been any alternative I should have taken it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace straight along, then we made a complete turn and went along another straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same ground again; and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this was so. I would have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but I really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any protest would have had no effect in case there had been an intention to delay. By and by, however, as I was curious to know how time was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

    Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night. At the first howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the driver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but shivered and sweated as though after a runaway from sudden fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us began a louder and sharper howling—that of wolves—which affected both the horses and myself in the same way—for I was minded to jump from the calèche and run, whilst they reared again and plunged madly, so that the driver had to use all his great strength to keep them from bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed to the sound, and the horses so far became quiet that the driver was able to descend and to stand before them. He petted and soothed them, and whispered something in their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became quite manageable again, though they still trembled. The driver again took his seat, and shaking his reins, started off at a great pace. This time, after going to the far side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow roadway which ran sharply to the right.

    Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over the roadway till we passed as through a tunnel; and again great frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we swept along. It grew colder and colder still, and fine powdery snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us were covered with a white blanket. The keen wind still carried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully afraid, and the horses shared my fear; but the driver was not in the least disturbed. He kept turning his head to left and right, but I could not see anything through the darkness.

    Suddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue flame.¹⁵

    The driver saw it at the same moment; he at once checked the horses and, jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not know what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer; but while I wondered the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took his seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be repeated endlessly, and now, looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare. Once the flame appeared so near the road that even in the darkness around us I could watch the driver’s motions. He went rapidly to where the blue flame rose—it must have been very faint, for it did not seem to illumine the place around it at all—and gathering a few stones, formed them into some device. Once there appeared a strange optical effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same. This startled me, but as the effect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the howling of the wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving circle.

    At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than he had yet done, and during his absence the horses began to tremble worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could not see any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether; but just then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind the jagged crest of a beetling, pineclad rock, and by its light I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more terrible in the grim silence which held them than even when they howled. For myself, I felt a sort of paralysis of fear. It is only when a man feels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand their true import.

    All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had some peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared, and looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful to see; but the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side, and they had perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break out through the ring and to aid his approach. I shouted and beat the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and looking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he swept his long arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves fell back and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, so that we were again in darkness.

    When I could see again the driver was climbing into the calèche, and the wolves had disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost complete darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept on ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in the main always ascending. Suddenly I became conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit sky.¹⁶

    II

    JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL

    (continued)

    5 May.—I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach to such a remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark ways led from it under great round arches it perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.

    When the calèche stopped the driver jumped down, and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vise that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took out my traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins; the horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark openings.

    I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do. Of bell or knocker there was no sign; through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor’s clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor’s clerk!¹

    Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.

    Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step approaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great door swung back.

    Within, stood a tall old man, clean-shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long, quivering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a strange intonation:—

    ‘Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!’ He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man. Again he said:—

    ‘Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely. And leave something of the happiness you bring!’ The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking; so, to make sure, I said interrogatively:—

    ‘Count Dracula?’ He bowed in a courtly way as he replied:—

    ‘I am Dracula. And I bid you welcome, Mr Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.’ As he was speaking he put the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage; he had carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested, but he insisted:—

    ‘Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself.’ He insisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding stair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our steps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs flamed and flared.

    The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and crossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window of any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire, which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door:—

    ‘You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared.’

    The light and warmth and the Count’s courteous welcome seemed to have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was half-famished with hunger; so making a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.

    I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stone-work, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said:—

    ‘I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.’

    I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr Hawkins had entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely; then, with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at least, gave me a thrill of pleasure:—

    ‘I much regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters.’

    The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, of which I had two glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the Count asked me many questions as to my journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced.

    By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host’s desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy.

    His face was a strong—a very strong—aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples, but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

    Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm.²

    The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal. The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while; and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard, as if from down below in the valley, the howling of many wolves. The Count’s eyes gleamed, and he said:—

    ‘Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!’ Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—

    ‘Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter.’ Then he rose and said:—

    ‘But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon; so sleep well and dream well!’ and, with a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom….

    I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

    7 May.—It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke of my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the table, on which was written:—

    ‘I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me.—D.’ So I set to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants know I had finished; but I could not find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have been of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centuries old, though in excellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court,³

    but there they were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and I had to get the little shaving-glass from my bag before I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except for the howling of wolves. When I had finished my meal—I do not know whether to call it breakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o’clock when I had it—I looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked the Count’s permission. There was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, or even writing materials; so I opened another door in the room and found a sort of library. The door opposite mine I tried, but found it locked.

    In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind—history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law—all relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the ‘Red’ and ‘Blue’ books, Whitaker’s Almanack, the Army and Navy Lists and—it somehow gladdened my heart to see it—the Law List.⁴

    Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night’s rest. Then he went on:—

    ‘I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you. These friends’—and he laid his hand on some of the books—‘have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.’

    ‘But, Count,’ I said, ‘you know and speak English thoroughly!’ He bowed gravely.

    ‘I thank you, my friend, for your all too flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.’

    ‘Indeed,’ I said, ‘you speak excellently.’

    ‘Not so,’ he answered. ‘Well I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble; I am boyar;⁵

    the common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land,⁶

    he is no one; men know him not—and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he sees me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, to say, Ha, ha! a stranger! I have been so long master that I would be master still—or at least that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand.’

    Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come into that room when I chose. He answered, ‘Yes, certainly,’ and added:—

    ‘You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.’ I said I was sure of this, and then he went on:—

    ‘We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things here may be.’

    This led to much conversation. And as it was evident that he wanted to talk; if only for talking’s sake, I asked him many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand; but generally he answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as, for instance, why the coachman went to the places where we had seen the blue flames. Was it indeed true that they showed where gold was hidden? He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year—last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway—a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed. ‘That treasure has been hidden,’ he went on, ‘in the region through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders.⁷

    In old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them—men and women, the aged and the children too—and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil.’

    ‘But how,’ said I, ‘can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?’ The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered:—

    ‘Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one night. And on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me

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